Your Character's Name: Roger Gilmour
“ROGER!” She came sauntering in, her hips moving in an undeniably rhythmic motion. My eyes fell to her slim tan waistline, definitely not a sight for sore eyes.
“What’s up doll?” My eyes slowed moved up her caramelized figure to that unforgettable face that I’d spent the past 10 years with. Her brows were furrowed thick on her forehead, eyes dead set on my third eye. I looked at her coyly; I knew what was coming next.
“Are you going to work on the bus today, I was hoping we were going to be able to go this summer.” And there it was, the daily request to work on the bus.
I pointed at the disgusting lump of a man on the other side of the counter from where I was sitting, “After I’m done talking to Nick here, I’ll get right on it.” I shot her a smile back, one of pure innocent subordination.
The ball of hair and fat that stood trembling on the other side of the counter slowly looked from me to Hannah. And there it was; Hannah shot a deadly aquamarine glare at him from across the store. I’ve never seen a man of that size move that fast.
She looked at me with those clear blue pools of sweet nirvana; I grew weak at the knees. A pink painted finger pointed at the door behind our prized beaded curtain. “I’m only going to ask once Rog, you know how much this means to me.” Did I ever.
The requests started the last summer. My father passed early in that season, from some bacterial spore in the lungs, according to the local quack in a box. Dad, well, he kind of let the store run to pot, so Hannah and I took it as a little project to restore the place back to it’s original grandeur. No easy undertaking considering the fact that it’s been easily 20 years since Dad mowed the lawn….
While slaving in the fields of dandelions and those prickly weeds, (you know the ones you always managed to step on as a kid?) Hannah uncovered something Dad forgot to mention he acquired in his many barters with the local folk on Brady.
At first I thought it was fucking hideous. As my eyes searched its façade, slowly tracing the intricate paisley patterns painted in violent Day-Glo colors. I felt a little sick as my mind processed it all. “Rog!” Hannah cried out, “My sweet yogis look at this!” Sure rust had taken away a bit of its original beauty but upon revealing the whole thing, even the Buddha would have shed a tear at this. “Rog!” she cried again, the aquamarine pools quivering in their eye sockets “It’s one of those buses…. From the Revolution! The ones your Dad used to tell us about all the time! Can you believe this?”
I pushed open the doors, and the smell was horrifying; a combination of old PB&J sandwiches, feet, and sandalwood. “Oh fuck!” I stumbled backwards catching my self on the hoe stuck in the ground behind me. Like two small children Hannah and I stood in the doorway, fingers massaging the paint and lacquer of the bus. My eyes caught a glimpse of something catching the midday sun. “At least,” I paused to look at Hannah, who was so caught up in the moment she was quivering. I slid my large hand along her cheek, “the old man thought enough to leave us the keys.” I smiled, and bent the 5 inches of difference between my lips and hers. Pink on pink. Soft. Moist. Inescapable.
The sun consumed our sweet flesh as we fell onto a small patch of grass, hands searching each other’s bodies. I reached into my pants pocket and pulled out a small orange pill, she sent out a candy-coated giggle into the summer air. We passed the pill back and forth, sucking on it until the powder exploded in our mouths. Citrus Run Down – nothing like this in the world. I blinked and everything went ultra-violet. Color became sound, sound became taste, and taste became a whole experience unto its self. I ran my hands through her sun-weathered hair. Of all the girls in the world… Hannah was the one pinned under my body. Could I get any luckier?
She pulled her skirt down as I shimmed back into my shirt. “Should we see if it works?”
“The bus?”
“Well I know you work just fine. “ She smiled that wicked little grin of self-justice. “Yes, the bus you fool.”
I stepped up the ladder; the smell had substantially dissipated since the doors had first been opened. I twisted the key.
GRRRRSHHHHHUTGGRRRR
I looked at Hannah, she shrugged. Her eyes suddenly widened as she tugged on her mala, which hung loosely at her golden wrist. I smiled and nodded. Pulling my own cat’s eye mala off my thick wrist I began chanting …. the heart of the sun…. the heart of the sun. We reached the 108th mantra simultaneously and I pushed the key as hard as I could, sweat leaking from beneath my bandana. The smell of old oil hung in the air as the bus came shrieking into life. “Mother, do you think they’ll drop the bomb?” I reached for the knobs in front of me, desperately, but the bus kept screaming at me, “Mother, should I trust the government?”
“Goddamnit, Hannah get up here, how do I turn this shit off?” Her dirty bare feet hit the ground hard as she ran towards the bus. She looked at me blank as a chalkboard; clearly the Run Down was still affecting her. With one slender finger she pushed on the largest button the console.
Silence.
Hannah climbed up onto my lap, her willowy body weighing almost nothing. She looked at me with pure unadulterated innocence.
“So when do we leave for Seattle?”
“ROGER!” She came sauntering in, her hips moving in an undeniably rhythmic motion. My eyes fell to her slim tan waistline, definitely not a sight for sore eyes.
“What’s up doll?” My eyes slowed moved up her caramelized figure to that unforgettable face that I’d spent the past 10 years with. Her brows were furrowed thick on her forehead, eyes dead set on my third eye. I looked at her coyly; I knew what was coming next.
“Are you going to work on the bus today, I was hoping we were going to be able to go this summer.” And there it was, the daily request to work on the bus.
I pointed at the disgusting lump of a man on the other side of the counter from where I was sitting, “After I’m done talking to Nick here, I’ll get right on it.” I shot her a smile back, one of pure innocent subordination.
The ball of hair and fat that stood trembling on the other side of the counter slowly looked from me to Hannah. And there it was; Hannah shot a deadly aquamarine glare at him from across the store. I’ve never seen a man of that size move that fast.
She looked at me with those clear blue pools of sweet nirvana; I grew weak at the knees. A pink painted finger pointed at the door behind our prized beaded curtain. “I’m only going to ask once Rog, you know how much this means to me.” Did I ever.
The requests started the last summer. My father passed early in that season, from some bacterial spore in the lungs, according to the local quack in a box. Dad, well, he kind of let the store run to pot, so Hannah and I took it as a little project to restore the place back to it’s original grandeur. No easy undertaking considering the fact that it’s been easily 20 years since Dad mowed the lawn….
While slaving in the fields of dandelions and those prickly weeds, (you know the ones you always managed to step on as a kid?) Hannah uncovered something Dad forgot to mention he acquired in his many barters with the local folk on Brady.
At first I thought it was fucking hideous. As my eyes searched its façade, slowly tracing the intricate paisley patterns painted in violent Day-Glo colors. I felt a little sick as my mind processed it all. “Rog!” Hannah cried out, “My sweet yogis look at this!” Sure rust had taken away a bit of its original beauty but upon revealing the whole thing, even the Buddha would have shed a tear at this. “Rog!” she cried again, the aquamarine pools quivering in their eye sockets “It’s one of those buses…. From the Revolution! The ones your Dad used to tell us about all the time! Can you believe this?”
I pushed open the doors, and the smell was horrifying; a combination of old PB&J sandwiches, feet, and sandalwood. “Oh fuck!” I stumbled backwards catching my self on the hoe stuck in the ground behind me. Like two small children Hannah and I stood in the doorway, fingers massaging the paint and lacquer of the bus. My eyes caught a glimpse of something catching the midday sun. “At least,” I paused to look at Hannah, who was so caught up in the moment she was quivering. I slid my large hand along her cheek, “the old man thought enough to leave us the keys.” I smiled, and bent the 5 inches of difference between my lips and hers. Pink on pink. Soft. Moist. Inescapable.
The sun consumed our sweet flesh as we fell onto a small patch of grass, hands searching each other’s bodies. I reached into my pants pocket and pulled out a small orange pill, she sent out a candy-coated giggle into the summer air. We passed the pill back and forth, sucking on it until the powder exploded in our mouths. Citrus Run Down – nothing like this in the world. I blinked and everything went ultra-violet. Color became sound, sound became taste, and taste became a whole experience unto its self. I ran my hands through her sun-weathered hair. Of all the girls in the world… Hannah was the one pinned under my body. Could I get any luckier?
She pulled her skirt down as I shimmed back into my shirt. “Should we see if it works?”
“The bus?”
“Well I know you work just fine. “ She smiled that wicked little grin of self-justice. “Yes, the bus you fool.”
I stepped up the ladder; the smell had substantially dissipated since the doors had first been opened. I twisted the key.
GRRRRSHHHHHUTGGRRRR
I looked at Hannah, she shrugged. Her eyes suddenly widened as she tugged on her mala, which hung loosely at her golden wrist. I smiled and nodded. Pulling my own cat’s eye mala off my thick wrist I began chanting …. the heart of the sun…. the heart of the sun. We reached the 108th mantra simultaneously and I pushed the key as hard as I could, sweat leaking from beneath my bandana. The smell of old oil hung in the air as the bus came shrieking into life. “Mother, do you think they’ll drop the bomb?” I reached for the knobs in front of me, desperately, but the bus kept screaming at me, “Mother, should I trust the government?”
“Goddamnit, Hannah get up here, how do I turn this shit off?” Her dirty bare feet hit the ground hard as she ran towards the bus. She looked at me blank as a chalkboard; clearly the Run Down was still affecting her. With one slender finger she pushed on the largest button the console.
Silence.
Hannah climbed up onto my lap, her willowy body weighing almost nothing. She looked at me with pure unadulterated innocence.
“So when do we leave for Seattle?”